


you are all four seasons

by lumineres



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: 16-Year-Old Harry, 18-Year-Old Louis, Fluff, M/M, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-27
Updated: 2014-01-27
Packaged: 2018-01-10 05:19:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1155569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lumineres/pseuds/lumineres
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry works in a convenience store, Louis peels off the discount stickers and puts them on the sandwiches he wants, Harry thinks Louis is very pretty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you are all four seasons

**Author's Note:**

> i started this in like September or something i dont even remember and then i forgot about it and i wrote a page like three days ago and then wow all of a sudden tonight it's 6 pages and done????  
> And it's kind of written in the same style as 'its always have but never hold, you began to feel like home' in the repect that its really casual at first and then all of a sudden there's all this poetic shit and tbh i dont even know if this is good but i hope so!  
> title from 'northern wind' by city and colour  
> anyway i hope you like it!!  
> And I apologize for my americanisms

 

Tuesdays are Harry's favorite days. It's because his mom packs him his favorite lunch and because he generally doesn't have any tests or quizzes on Tuesdays or because the laundry is done and he gets to wear his comfiest underwear- not, _not_ , because the pretty boy comes into Mark's Convenient Store on Tuesdays.

That's _not_ it.

At _all_.

Okay, so it is.

He'd started coming in two months ago, or so, and Harry'd been at the register waiting to check customers out. The bell jangled and he'd looked over to greet whoever it was, but then all of a sudden he couldn't talk. Because this particular customer had blue eyes and golden skin and chestnut hair and pretty fingers running through aforementioned hair and pink thin lips and pointy tiny pearly teeth and a jawline to end all jawlines and cheekbones like a little pixie and all of a sudden Harry was just a large blob of _oh_ , like he'd been punched in the gut.

His hands had been shaking when he checked out the boy's sandwich (and that is _not_ an innuendo, thank you) and so he hadn't seen it, at the time, because anything he touched was immediately blurry from the constant trembling.

But then, the next week, the boy came in again, with a friend.

“Hey, Louis, why do you do that?” His friend had asked. Louis. Harry decided it fit him.

“Stan, really, are you thick? Do you think you could you be any more obvious?”

“Sorry.” Harry couldn't see them, they were behind one of the display racks. Harry heard Louis sigh and then they rounded the corner and walked toward the desk.

Harry knew he had to say something. He _had_ to say something. It wasn't everyday incredibly fit boys came in there to buy their chicken sandwiches- and, hm. Harry noticed it then. He put all the reduced stickers on the sandwiches first thing when he came into work, and none of the chicken ones were reduced.

He thumbed over the sticker, knowing it wasn't supposed to be there, and looked up at Louis, chewing on his lip. Louis looked like nothing was out of place, except his eyes, which were just the slightest bit wider than they should have been.

Harry shook his head in the slightest and scanned the sandwich, and over the beep of the register he thought he heard a small sigh or relief.

The next week, he did it again, he came up with a sandwich that said reduced but it wasn't supposed to be. And Harry rang him up and told him to have a nice day.

Now, a few weeks later, this has become routine and Louis tells him “you too!” when Harry wishes him well.

Harry's stomach turns in it's body casing waiting for Louis to come in so he can stare at him and fantasize about all sorts of things you shouldn't think about doing to a near stranger. (Like licking into his mouth and trailing his hands down his spine and feeling Louis' do the same and letting him use his fingers to open him up and letting Louis get as close as he can be to him and feeling his tongue on his neck and he whimpering Louis' name like the lyrics to his favorite song until he's just a mush puddle of limbs and Louis.)

Really, though, Harry doesn't understand how one boy can have so much pretty.

As he thinks it, Louis walks in.

“Hey mate!” He greets Harry, waving as he walks to the sandwich section. Harry's heart clenches and stomach flips. Harry manages to mumble something that sounds like a greeting. He's pretty sure it had an 'h' in there. It might have just been a sigh, actually, thinking on it. But how is he meant to function with the actual personification of sunshine smiling at him? Honestly, cut a guy some slack.

Harry occupies himself in the time it takes for Louis to pick out his sandwiches by fluffing his curls and biting his lips to make them pinker. He knows what guys like about him, and he fully intends to use his assets to his advantage. Louis rounds the corner again, and speaking of _ass_ ets.

(Harry's always been one for bad puns.)

Harry quickly scans the sandwiches, and he _knows_ these weren't reduced, and he's feeling particularly daring and his hair is particularly voluminous and coiled, so, “So what is it then?”

“What's what-” Louis asks, squints at Harry's name tag, “-Harold?” It doesn't say Harold.

Harry looks up, “Don't play dumb.” He rolls his eyes as he slides the sandwiches and Louis' change over to him. “Don't have the money? Just like being reckless?”

Louis sucks in a breath and purses his lips, looking surprised.

“You knew?” He asks, letting the air out all in the two words.

“I put the stickers on the sandwiches every morning. Of _course_ I knew.”

“Oh.”

“So then what is it? Want to play a trick on the pretty sixteen year old cashier? Creative and obscure way of asking me on a date?” If there's one thing Harry Styles is, it's subtle.

“What are my choices?” Louis replies slyly.

“Well if you say no I'm going to a) not believe you and b) demand a real explanation. If you say yes I'm going to a) tell you to pick me up here at 6 o'clock and b) demand a real explanation.”

Harry's never been suave, Gemma's going to be so proud. Well. He is technically letting the boy steal, but, semantics.

“Four sisters, one mum. Money's a bit tight.” Louis answers, and rights himself from where he was leaning against the counter. He starts to walk toward the door and Harry doesn't know what to say. Beg? Plead? Cry? Threaten to call the manager? His mom?

The heel of Louis' hand pushes into the door, and Harry's heart is in the beginnings of shattering when Louis calls over his shoulder, “See you at six, young Harold.” The door swings closed and Harry may or may not have had a one man dance party behind the counter.

 

There just so happens to be a pier with a carnival on it and Louis just so happens to have two Fast Lane passes to all the rides because apparently Louis' twin sisters got sick and couldn't use them. It also happens to be the hottest day so far. It's mid July and summer is here with full force and Harry can't _wait_ for it to continue. Especially if this goes well and he gets to go on more dates with Louis.

“Bye, Mark!” Harry calls to the back of the store.

“Take a condom!” Mark calls back, and Harry can feel his face pale while Louis sniggers into his hand.

“That is useful, actually.” Louis grins and pockets one from the free display. Harry's eyes widen.

“Calm down, jeez Harold I'm not going to fuck you on the first date.” He laughs, holding the door for Harry. Harry tries not to show any emotion, but Louis lets out a barking laugh, “You look so disappointed!”

He flushes a deep pink and Louis assures him profusely that it's quite cute. The pier is within walking distance from the convenience shop and they talk as they walk. Louis calls him Harold a few more times, and Harry thinks he should make sure he doesn't actually think it's his name.

“You know my name's Harry right?” He asks during a short pause in conversation, where they were both listening to the soft carnival sounds beginning to float through the humid evening air.

“Yeah, but Harold is just more fun to say. I'll switch to Harry if you like. Or Curly, I could call you Curly. I'm rather fond of nicknames, myself. For a while I liked to be called “The Swagmaster of Doncaster” but then I moved here and realized simultaneously how terrible of a decision that was.” Louis rambles, and Harry can't help but just be entirely fixated on him while he talks. The sun is low, it's six o'clock and sunset is scheduled for 7:24, so it hits Louis' skin in the most beautiful way, making it look like the sunshine is spilling out of his pores and not drilling into them. His eyelashes cast long shadows on his July tanned cheekbones, and Harry can't wait to kiss him and feel them fluttering against his own skin. Harry always kisses on the first date, or, well, he's only been on one other first date before and he kissed her so why break tradition? He wonders what Louis' lips will taste like, cotton candy or ice cream or the ocean, depending on the outcome of the date. Maybe a sweet, summery combination of the three. His shoulders probably taste like sunscreen smells and salt and honey. Harry wants to taste every bit of Louis, with his tongue and his teeth and his fingertips and his eyes. Louis is a god and Harry is a devout follower.

Harry realizes he's been talking, but he has no idea what he's been talking about, but Louis doesn't look weirded out or anything, so he thinks he's in the clear.

“So you're kissing me tonight, then?” Louis says, and Harry jumps. Had he said that out loud? He flounders for a response, “I, uh,” There, look sounds, vocal chords vibrating, mouth opening, progress. Yes. Good.

“Just wanna know if I'm going to get to experience that pretty mouth of yours or if this whole 'first date' thing is a waste of time and if I should call it the second or third or fourth or hundredth so I can kiss you.”

 _Oh_.

“Um, yeah, kissing sound, um, good. Yeah. Later. Please.” Response: check. Now, inhale. Blink. Move fringe, blink again. Fuck don't forget to exhale. Inhale. Blink.

“Articulate, aren't you, Curly?” Louis teases, “Great oratory skills.”

Oratory sounds like oraltory and oraltory makes Harry think oral and oh goodness _oral_. He doesn't manage a response this time.

“Hey, you don't have to be nervous, you know? I'm, like, normal. I promise.” Louis says, teasing smile turning into a look of concern, and then confusion when he realizes he's grabbed Harry's hand.

Harry finds words, “I don't think it's that I'm nervous but that I really like you.”

Louis seems to be at a loss for response for a change, bright blue eyes wide and tunneling into Harry's pupils. His hands are soft, strong fingers laced into Harry's own. Louis opens his mouth to reply, but then they're barreled into by laughing children chasing a seagull, and it seems they're at the carnival.

A ferris wheel has been set up and games and snacks and small rides and everything smells like fried dough, cotton candy, and french fries marinating in humidity. Harry's hair is probably 130% frizz. The ocean is sparkling in the low sunlight and Harry has to squint his eyes against it.

“Well then, shall we get sugar high or go on rides first?” Louis asks, squeezing Harry's hand like a friendly reminder that 'hey!! I'm here!! We're on a date!! I'm holding your hand!! I'm prettier than the ocean!!'

(Louis' prettier than everything, if Harry's honest.)

"Well if we're going to go on the spinny one, we shouldn't eat first." Harry says, logically.

"Smart one, you are, Curly." Louis says with a small smile, and leads him onward toward the spinny ride.

 

The thing is, with Harry, he doesn't like rides all that much. ( _Well_. There's a certain one he can think of that he enjoys.) He doesn't like it when the fucking _floor_ drops and he doesn't even have a belt to hold him in place. He doesn't like that this entire ride is dependant on centripedal or centrifugal or centipedal or centennial or whatever-the-fuck force it is, because really, how reliable can the laws of physics really be? People break laws all the time.

(So maybe he's not thinking clearly, but Louis is whooping and hollering and grinning next to him and the world is passing by him in a blur, but Louis is next to him and Harry's face has turned and all he can see is Louis. Louis: giddy and excited with eyes that sparkle more than the ocean in the six o'clock July sun and thin, bowed lips pinker than the sunset will be stretched over pearly teeth whiter than Bermuda sand, and skin golder than solidified amber encasing some ancient, exquisite relic from a world completely different from theirs and keeping it golden forever. And with a sight like that, how is Harry possibly meant to have his thoughts in order, when the only order he can fathom for them is

1\. Louis

2\. Louis

3\. Louis

.

.

.

5,037,590,387. Louis?)

So Harry turns his head then and looks up. The sky is tinged with peach, but mainly still blue and with white clouds, but with the speed of the ride it's all blurred together into one color. Harry's sent back to when he was five and he lied down on the spinny thing in his school's playground and his friends all spun him. It was noon then, and the sky was a far deeper blue and it was cold out, but the sky looked like this. Blurred together and the colors twisted around like they would be with a paint brush. Everyone was laughing and giddy, it was the day before winter break and Christmas was only a few sleeps away, and he couldn't hold in the laugh that burst from his mouth. Being five years old, this all felt like a very momentous instant, spinning faster than the speed of light on his playground with Santa preparing his sleigh in the north, it all felt very important to one small Harry Styles. And with the now-sky slowing above him and Louis' laugh giddy in his ears, it all feels just like that day in December when he was five, and the fact Louis hasn't once let go of his hand is the most important thing that has happened to date.

"I think it's just that I really like you." Harry repeats, still watching the sky slow and answering some question no one had asked.

"Me too. I really like you too." Louis shouts over the wind and the sea and the laughter of the people around them.

Yes, _it's all very momentous and important,_ he promises himself, and if it's not yet he will make it.

 

"Now _this_ , is cotton candy." Louis groans around a mouthful of the pink fluff. "I've never had such incredible cotton candy."

Harry doesn't know what it is either, because this is the normal brand of cotton candy sold at like every place ever. But maybe it's just that he really likes Louis.

 

Louis tries to pay for an extra turn for both of them to play one of the games.

"You most certainly will _not_." Harry shoots him down.

"I most certainly will _am_!" Louis insists, not even batting and eyelash at the convoluted sentence.

"If you can't buy chicken sandwiches for fifty cents extra, then you most definitely can not buy extra turns on an overpriced carnival game." Harry sounds like his mother, but Louis' just grinning at him.

"What?" He asks, feeling defensive.

Louis just leans in quick and kisses his cheek. Harry feels his face flush and eyes widen.

"Please? If you win me the lion stuffed animal I'll let you pay me back." Louis begs, eyes wide and Harry can still feel his lips burning a tattoo where his dimple is.

"Oh yeah sure I can, yeah." Harry mumbles, stumbling over his words.

It's only seven turns later, seven dollars wasted, and an oversized lion toy in Louis' arms that Harry realizes he's been beguiled. Bamboozled.

 _Wooed_.

It's just that he really likes Louis.

 

Maybe the sunset is just particularly beautiful on the ferris wheel. Maybe it's Louis. Maybe it's Louis' lips and how they did end up tasting like chocolate ice cream and pink cotton candy and the sun and the summer. Maybe it's his tongue and how it tastes like strawberries and sunscreen and mint. Maybe it's his breath and how it tastes like eternity. Maybe it's his hands on the small off Harry's back, buring a hole in his flesh with their plasmatic touch like the sun's. Maybe it's Louis' slightly damp hair between Harry's fingers like dew on spring mornings. Maybe it's his sighs that taste like winter naps and snowflake-sprinkled wind.

Maybe it's just that he really likes Louis.

 

The ocean feels like silk on Harry's skin as he slides in. The carnival is closed, but the lights from the ferris wheel still sequin the calm water. He looks up to where Louis is still stood on the dock and watches as he peels off his t-shirt. The moon washes him in silver. It contours every line of him as he pulls off his shorts and then his boxers. Harry feels like he's in an art museum, looking at the main masterpiece sculpted by Zeus himself. His breath hitches in his throat.

"Louis." He breathes, with no intent of continuing. It's enough, that one word. It's everything, right now (and forever, Harry thinks.)

Louis slips into water, whose waves are small and timid, like they're just as awed by Louis' beauty as Harry is, how he looks like Hercules spun from spider's silk, or a paper-thin vase made of stone. Strong, delicate, artful.

(Somewhere, the sane, not completely enamored part of Harry's brain reminds him he's sixteen and he should be thinking about porn and cars and acne, not metaphors and analogies and eternities.)

They tread water to stay afloat, and Louis lifts his hands to cup them on Harry's jaw.

"I'm going to kiss you now." He informs him, and Harry's gut twists like it hadn't already happened and he hadn't already known. He wonders what it is that makes him feel like this, like every word from Louis' mouth is poetry from Apollo's lips. (Maybe it's just that he really likes Louis.)

He nods, and Louis leans in, pulling Harry's lower lip into his mouth. Harry's lips tingle and his tongue aches for contact, his fingers yearn to feel Louis' skin slick with the water and unencumbered by clothing. Louis gets this somehow, and takes his hand and leads him under the dock, where they can stand on the ocean floor and still have their heads above water. Harry feels like a giant.

Louis reconnects their mouths, open and wanting, his tongue tracing Harry's like he's memorizing it. From there, it's everything. Everything all at once, the sun and the moon and the summer and the winter and the heavens and the earth, all coursing through Harry's veins, racing the adrenaline and dopamine.

When Louis sighs as Harry kisses his collar bones, he thinks that breath could freeze the whole ocean.

When Louis lines them up and slides against him, Harry thinks the friction and the resulting heat could boil the sea.

When the kisses turn sloppy and the moans loud and Harry's mind is nothing but a white-hot fuzz, he's positive they could float away to the center of the Atlantic and stay like this forever, connected at the mouth and the tongue and the fingertips.

Yes, _it's all very momentous and important,_ he thinks, wrapped in Louis and the satin sea. _This is an eternity_.

**Author's Note:**

> idk how this went from dumb boy sandwich pining to eternities and greek gods but ok  
> comments and kudos and stuff tickle my pickle!!!  
> my [ tumblr ](youremylad.tumblr.com)  
> on twitter @zerrries  
> i use tumblr 100000x more!!


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